


The Muse’s Musings and the Amused Artist (aka A Series of A-Musing Events)

by Nightbreeze987



Series: Twoset oneshots! [4]
Category: Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Coming Out, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other, Reincarnation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightbreeze987/pseuds/Nightbreeze987
Summary: Muse and artist, violinist/composer and sculptor AU, they are each others’ muse. I’m going to try to write something under 2k words for once lol. This is set in the 17th century (the 1600s, Baroque era), where sculptures depict intense emotion and dynamic movement. I mentioned the luthier, Mr Renato Scrollavezza, who made Brett’s violin, may he rest in peace.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: Twoset oneshots! [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749748
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	The Muse’s Musings and the Amused Artist (aka A Series of A-Musing Events)

Edward’s muse was a violinist, gentle, hardworking and brilliant.

“Thank you all for volunteering. Please write your name and your mailing address on the parchment I’m giving you and wait quietly. The artist will arrive soon.” Seated around the table were 7 people of different builds and complexion, five men and two women. Edward waited with them for his master to arrive. Not long after. a knock at the door drew his attention away from his work and he bustled to the door. “Welcome master- Uh… Who are you?”

The youth before him looked about, confused. “This… Is this the place? Where a sculptor was asking for models?” Edward stepped aside to let the newcomer in, “Yes, it is. Please take a seat and write your name and mailing address on the parchment provided.” The youth bobbed his head and sat, struggling with a bulky case and a wad of parchment stuffed between the pages of a book. As time dragged on, the volunteers began to introduce themselves to each other. Their chatter reached out and drew Edward into it.

“I’m Edward and I’m 25 years old. I’m the apprentice of the master we are waiting for. I’ve been learning from him for 10 years.” The group gazed at the last person to speak up, the newcomer, awaiting his introduction.

“I’m Breton, I’m 23 years old and I play the violin. I’ve been apprenticed to a luthier in Parma, just north of here, for the past 12 years. I write music sometimes. Well, try to.” Breton seemed very nervous and couldn’t stop bouncing his leg.

Enraptured, Edward urged, “Play something for us! One of your compositions maybe?” 

“Pfft, so what? I doubt he’ll ever be as good as _my_ uncle,” a snobby boy named Thomas scoffed. Breton froze and shrunk into his chair, fiddling with his manuscripts. Before anyone could say anything, the door burst open and a broad, grey-haired man in his late fifties stormed into the room. “Alright, get up and line up against the wall! Hurry up, I don’t have all day!” Everyone jumped up and stood against the wall, backs pressed against the stone. As he walked down the line, he briefed them gruffly, “The model I am looking for has to be willing to stay in my residence for three months. I will take care of your meals and pay you an allowance of 40000 lire a month*. Anyone who objects will leave now.”

Edward pushed the last chair in and glanced at Breton, who was shaking in his shoes. Seeing that no one moved, the master snorted and collected the pieces of parchment from the candidates, moving down the line and memorising their names. He then swept around and dragged Edward to the next room, instructing the models to remain standing against the wall. “Sir, what do you need me for?” Edward turned as the old man closed the door.

“Who is the least tolerable among them from the conversation earlier?” 

“Oh yeah, you told me to interact with them. Most of them are quite nice, Breton is quite shy and he already has an apprenticeship to a luthier. Thomas is a bit arrogant, though. I have a feeling that Gloria and Timothy are going to lose patience in time. Other than that, I don’t quite know the rest well enough to conclude.” Edward furrowed his brows and reflected on the interactions he had with the group. The old man sighed, suddenly weary, “Which one do you want?’

“Me, sir?” Edward was incredulous. 

“You heard me. I’m not getting any younger here and you’re going to have to make your own living soon.”

Edward pondered before answering, “Breton, sir. It would be interesting to sculpt a violinist.” The master raised his eyebrows, “Alright, good choice,I’m choosing Isaac.”

“Are you going to tell them now?”  


“Of course not, you dimwitted turnip! Send both of them letters next week. I’m leaving you to discuss the boy’s availability; talk to me about the payment later. Now go tell them to get lost.” The old man left in a dramatic swirl of his cloak, heading down the staircase to the studio.

Breton was ecstatic to know that he’d been chosen the next week when the letter arrived. Edward met him at the studio the next day and negotiated their agreement, drawing up a contract for him to sign. Edward was supposed to fetch Breton from Parma on horseback after his lessons with luthier Renato Scrollavezza, sculpting him for 3 hours in the evening, letting Breton stay the night and sending him back home the next morning. Breton would be paid 10000 lire a month for 6 months. Edward pulled him into the studio and began excitedly explaining all the ideas he’d had for his sculpture.

* * *

Breton’s muse was a sculptor. He was passionate, fiery and creative. 

Weeks of posing for Edward passed and Breton started to enjoy the sculptor’s company more and more, playing self-composed pieces to entertain him. They were actually just excerpts of phrases for various compositions, abstract and formless, and yet Edward enthused over each one. No one else had shown such interest or appreciation before, aside from his mentor. As Edward worked, he’d ask Breton endless questions about hobbies and the ins-and-outs of working as a luthier and playing the violin. “I could teach you one day,” Breton offered. “I’d love to,” came the shy reply.

Edward would often move the violinist into postures portraying movement, resulting in Breton feeling exceptionally sore after staying in poses that required a lot of core strength, as though frozen mid-swing through a phrase with emphasis. After a month, Edward told his model to begin posing nude, save for a robe draped over the left shoulder and cinched about the waist to preserve the shy youth’s modesty. “You’re pretty for a boy,” Eddy commented offhandedly, one day when he was circling Breton, taking in the different angles in which he would sculpt the violinist. Breton tensed, eyes downcast. Edward circled back to the front just in time to catch sight of the grimace. “Sorry, was that weird? I overstepped my bounds. My apologies.”

Breton decided it was time to confess to their closest friend. It had been 3 months, after all. “I’m not a boy, Edward.”

“Yeah, I know, you’re a big strong man.” Edward chuckled, turning to his worktable to lay down the sketchpad. Breton hopped down from the pedestal, “Edward, I’m not a man either.” Edward turned to come face to face with the half-nude model. “I mean, you don’t look like a girl either…” He gulped, feeling warm at their sudden proximity. 

“That’s the problem, Edward, I’m not either. So I’d appreciate if you’d stop calling me either. If you have a problem with it, you just have to deal with it.” Breton braced for the rejection and turned away from their intimacy. Edward reached out, embracing them. “I’m sorry. You should have told me earlier. I have been ignorant, so please help me to understand.” Breton felt as though a weight had been lifted off their chest. They turned around and returned the embrace. 

“I was born in the body of a male, but I do not feel like I am wholly male. Yet, I do not feel wholly female either. I am comfortable wearing both masculine and feminine clothes, behaving either way or in between. I’m both and neither and it’s frustrating. It’s like I’m trapped in the middle but I can’t tell anyone about it and I feel so alone.” Breton’s voice cracked and they began to cry into Edward’s smock.

As their sobs subsided, Edward lifted their chin, “That does not make me love you any less. I’m here for you. Just tell me what to do and teach me how to help you.” Edward wiped their tears tenderly. Breton sniffed, “You love me?”

“Wholeheartedly. If you’re confessing this, I’m confessing too. I’m attracted to you. I want to hold you and love you. Riding to and fro with you makes me feel like a knight protecting my fair… Um… Royal Highness?” Edward grimaced and gazed at Breton for approval. That coaxed a laugh out of them and they leaned in to place a kiss on Edward’s lips. Light and sweet, like a touch of nectar on flower petals. Edward whispered, “I need to get a closer look and feel your features to be able to carve you out properly.” His hands, reverent and calloused, rested on Breton’s face, brushing gently over their eyelids, lips, nose and ears. He closed his eyes, allowing his fingers to map out his lover’s face, torso and hands. The strong and elegant hands that could coax out soothing lullabies and passionate concertos that he had always longed to hold. He couldn’t resist and pressed a kiss to the back of their hand, bowing. Breton’s hands did not stay idle either, grabbing possessively at Edward.

* * *

Centuries later, a life-sized, androgynous, partially-nude sculpture of sparkling marble would stand on a pedestal, holding a violin as though swaying to the emotion of the piece it was playing, sculpted by unknown hands. Many art historians have debated who exactly it was supposed to depict, suggesting it was representative of the spirit of music, not limiting artistic talent to a single gender. Its facial features have faded with age and unfortunate destruction. Just beyond it, barely ten metres away, stood the entrance to a concert hall, an anonymous Baroque violin concerto floating out the doors. Perhaps the hands that held the violin were the ones that shaped that piece.

Both artworks were entitled “A Muse among the Ruins”.

And through that concert hall passed two Asian-Australian violinists on tour.

**Author's Note:**

> *Conversion not accurate, was using 1956 Euro inflation rates to calculate, 40000 lira here is about 645 USD in today’s spending power.
> 
> Do comment any corrections you may have as I am not quite qualified to write an nb character! I only changed Breton's pronouns after the reveal so I don't give anything away, please tell me if that's ok or not :/ Suggestions for the next chapter are appreciated!


End file.
